And right now she’s both a liability and an asset.
“Right now,” I say finally, “you’re useful.”
She frowns — not offended, just recognizing the difference between usefulness and affinity.
“I’ll take that,” she says.
We move again — the air too loud, the hummed vibration of the hub like a second heartbeat in my ears.
Behind us, somewhere near the docking bay, I hear another whisper — half rumor, half fear.
“They say the Butcher walks with him.”
I don’t slow.
But I do register it.
Because half-formed reputations have a way of becoming legend if you stand still long enough in the right place.
And I haven’t stood still in decades.
Not since I learned how to survive.
Not since I learned how to make other people fear me before they hurt me.
And not now — not here, not beside a woman who is becomingsomethingI still don’t fully understand.
Maybe it’s survival.
Maybe it’s chaos.
Maybe it’s just the beginning.
But whatever it is?
I’m going to watch it unfold.
CHAPTER 18
ROXY
The ramp seals behind us with a hydraulic sigh that sounds too much like exhaustion.
The dock noise cuts off mid-clamor, replaced by the muted hum of internal systems cycling through pressurization checks. My ears ring in the sudden quiet. I didn’t realize how loud the asteroid hub was until it’s gone—the overlapping shouts, the metallic clatter of stolen cargo, the electric snap of cheap plasma chargers being tested in open air. Now it’s just the steady thrum of Vrok’s ship and the smell of recycled air carrying the faint tang of coolant and ozone.
He doesn’t slow down once we’re inside.
His boots hit the deck in heavy, measured strides, shoulders set too tight beneath the dark fabric of his jacket. There’s a particular way he moves when he’s wound up—controlled, but barely. Like something feral has been leashed and resents it.
I watch him for three seconds.
Four.
Five.
And then I can’t swallow it anymore.
“What was that back there?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intend.
